


Shattered

by DaniStormborn



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 13:43:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5293331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaniStormborn/pseuds/DaniStormborn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she first returned from relaying into the Institute, Paladin Danse immediately knew something was wrong. Her face was the picture of emotionlessness as she stumbled down from the relay platform, but her eyes . . . Danse liked to think he could read Amalia O’Murphy like a book through the vibrant emerald of her eyes. Maybe it was because of the fact that he had traveled with her so much since their faithful first meeting at the Cambridge Police Station. Or maybe it was because of the simple fact that he loved her, and he had gotten to know her so well because of that fact – better than she knew herself sometimes. Whatever the reason, though, only Danse saw the agony and the heartache that danced like wildfire through her eyes. Only Danse saw how desperately she wanted to fall apart – to shatter at the slightest touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: Before

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little two-shot that I formulated after my character relayed into the Institute, came back, and then had to deal with that whole, Pulse-Pounding-Do-I-HAVE-To-Kill=Danse? adventure with the Brotherhood (I'm like, only a LITTLE in love with him). So yeah, this is what I imagined would really have happened, had everything not been scripted. So expect spoilers, (partially) smutty goodness, and possible tears? Who knows! It's an adventure! Onwards!

* * *

 

I

When she first returned from relaying into the Institute, Danse immediately knew something was wrong. Her face was the picture of emotionlessness as she stumbled down from the relay platform, but her eyes . . . Danse liked to think he could read Amalia O’Murphy like a book through the vibrant emerald of her eyes. Maybe it was because of the fact that he had traveled with her so much since their faithful first meeting at the Cambridge Police Station. Or maybe it was because of the simple fact that he loved her, and he had gotten to know her so well because of that fact – better than she knew herself sometimes. Whatever the reason, though, only Danse saw the agony and the heartache that danced like wildfire through her eyes. Only Danse saw how desperately she wanted to fall apart – to shatter at the slightest touch.

 

Only Danse saw, because it was only Danse she _allowed_ to see.

 

“Your back! What did you learn?”

 

Maxson’s excited words broke through the utter stillness that had encapsulated them since her arrival back, while Danse, silently, moved to take a kneeling stance in front of her. This close up, he saw how badly she was trembling – how tightly her arms were wrapped around herself. Her eyes were squeezed shut to ward away the threat of hot, burning tears, and he felt an agonized ripping in his chest. If he didn’t think he loved her, he knew right then and there that he did. Wasn’t that what love was all about? Feeling that other person’s pain as acutely as if it were your own?

 

“Amalia . . . Amalia, can you stand?” He asked, his voice steeped in concern, and she gave a shaky nod. Danse took a gentle hold of her arms and helped her slowly to her feet. As they rose, her own hands moved to take a tight hold of the metal arms belonging to the power armor he wore. She shook her head as Maxson waited impatiently in the wings for her to answer his question. Her words, though, were directed towards Danse.

 

“I want to go home, Danse.” She whispered, her agonized, tear-filled eyes meeting with his. He nodded, knowing she meant Sanctuary Hills. As fervent a believer in the Brotherhood of Steel’s creed as he was, the Predwyn had never been her home. Her home was the neighborhood she had lived in with her family before the war and the vault that had robbed her of everything she had ever loved, and eventually, the bustling settlement she had built on its ashes and twisted, metal skeleton like a phoenix. She wanted the comfort and safety that the settlement brought her, and the friends they held within. Danse understood her sudden urge to return to their home, for he suddenly felt it, too. Didn’t mean Maxson would, though.

 

“I . . . I need some time, Elder,” Amalia spoke up, her voice surprisingly strong despite the warring of emotion she felt inside. “I’ll meet you on the Predwyn when I’m ready to talk about what I found. I still have to make sense of it all.”

 

This was clearly not the answer Maxson had wanted to hear. Amalia continuing, though, kept him silent. “Doctor Li has agreed to return to the Brotherhood. I have also gotten the information that Proctor Ingram requested of me. However, I . . . I have decisions of my own I need to reflect on and weigh. I request leave for Paladin Danse and I to return to Sanctuary Hills. We’ll come meet you on the Predwyn when I’m ready.”

 

Maxson stayed silent for a moment, his eyes running over inch of her. Danse’s heart pounded in his chest, and he was sure Amalia’s was doing the same. After a moment, Maxson gave a short but firm nod. “Very well. I grant you a temporary leave. I’ll meet you back on the Predwyn.”

 

Amalia released a relieved sigh as Maxson turned and marched back to his escort of Brotherhood soldiers. Her shoulders sagged as she leaned her weight on Danse, and he allowed her to. “Come on,” He spoke, his voice low and soothing. “Let’s get back to Sanctuary.”

 

Amalia nodded and allowed him to slowly lead her away from the Boston Airport and the relay. Her strength seemed to return to her the farther away they got from the destination, and by the time they were on the long, cold road to Sanctuary Hills, she was walking on her own, without his support.

* * *

 

II

They reached Sanctuary Hills in better time than they had anticipated. Walking through the front gates and the buzzing turrets that guarded them, Danse saw the layers of grief and exhaustion melt off her, with every step they took further into the settlement she had built with her own bare hands, and which he had gladly helped with.

 

 _Her_ settlement . . .  he always referred to it as _her_ settlement, but she had always called it _their_ settlement, because, in the beginning, he had been right there beside her, helping her. Her, and him, and Preston – Mama Murphy, the Longs, Sturges. It wasn't  _just_ her settlement. It was theirs – all of theirs.

 

People came to meet them as they arrived, but she shrugged them off with a few dismissive words and small, apologetic smiles. She promised Piper and MacCready and all the others, that she’d explain things in due time. Her eyes met with Hancock’s across the way, and something silent and heavy seemed to pass between them – something that Danse had long ago attributed to the deep bond of friendship they had seemed to forge together since meeting the Mayor of Goodneighbor. With a small, tired smile, she turned to him and told him to go on ahead – that she’d meet him in the house in a bit. It wasn’t until he was climbing out of the power armor he normally stored in the attached, open garage, that he saw her crying in the arms of Nick Valentine across the street in the garage that served as the settlement’s workshop. He watched them for a moment – noticed the grave expression on the synth’s face as he held Amalia in his arms and allowed her to cry on his shoulder with her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Danse didn’t take it personal. Amalia’s attachment to Nick, was different than her attachment to him, or Piper, or Hancock, but no less powerful or primal.

 

She’d tell him what happened when she was ready. Just like how she would tell the others. Just like how she just told Nick.

 

He didn’t take it personally.

****    

She was silent when she came into the house a little while later, eyes red-rimmed and puffy. Danse sat on his side of the bed – the side closest to the door -- and silently watched as she got herself ready for bed. He took in every exhausted movement as she dropped the towel wrapped around her and slid on a fresh pair of underwear – the only thing she bothered to sleep in when they weren’t making camp out in the wilds of the Commonwealth. When she was done, she turned around and moved to head for her side of the bed, but Danse reaching out and taking her hand in his, made her pause. She turned a slightly furrowed brow onto him, as he smiled and drew her slowly towards him.

 

“Hey . . . you gonna be alright?”

 

Amalia looked thoughtful at this, almost as if the question had truly just occurred to her. His hands moved to encircle her waist as hers moved to grasp his broad shoulders. She stood there, in-between his parted legs, marveling at how small he looked outside of his armor, but yet, also seemed so big in comparison to her.

 

“I don’t know, Danse . . . ask me tomorrow.” She eventually spoke, and he nodded. His hands moved to flatten out on her back, and she relished in the comfort and protection that one small, possessive movement from him, seemed to award her.

 

“I’m here for you if you need anything.” He replied, and she nodded, her gaze softening.

 

“I know. Thank you.”

 

There was a silence for a moment. Until, eventually, it was she who leaned in first. She was the one who initiated the kiss that started out so slow and sweet, but which quickly deepened and grew impossibly more complex. She was the one who pushed him back onto the bed and climbed on top of him. She was the one who stripped them both by ridding him of the fresh clothes he had pulled on earlier, and the clean, flimsy pair of underwear she had just pulled on herself. They both smelled of that evening’s soap they had used to wash with, and Danse was suddenly very thankful for the fact that he had taken the chance earlier to rid himself of accumulated sweat and stench, as she moved down his now nude form to take his cock in her mouth. His eyes closed, and his head fell back against the sheeted mattress as she sucked and stroked him into a rock hardness. He thoroughly enjoyed every second her warm mouth and talented tongue shot bolts of pure pleasure, racing throughout his body.

 

Eventually, she released him, and he rose to meet her as she moved back up his body. Hand curling around the back of her neck, he guided her lips to his as he turned them over. Laying underneath him, she didn’t react when he grasped her hips and shimmied her into a better position, however, her touch was eager when she sunk her fingers into his hair as he buried his mouth between her thighs.

 

Amalia wasn’t as good at staying silent, as he was. It wasn’t long before he had her whimpering and writhing and uttering his name on breathless whispers, as he made love to her with his lips and tongue. And when he began fucking her with his fingers, he watched with a smile as her whimpers and breathless whispers rose in pitch and frequency along with the arch of her back. Her toes were curling, her hands were fisting into the sheets at her side. The muscles of her stomach underneath that thin caesarean scar that stretched vertically along her lower stomach, trembled. She was going to come soon, he knew, and come hard.

 

She did. Twice. And then they were together and connected so intimately – limbs tangled with each other’s and the sheets like twisting roots in the earth. And she was moving against him, moaning and breathlessly whispering his name as she clung to him like he was her only lifeline remaining that tied her to this world.

 

And as far as he knew, he was.

 

Afterwards, they lay in a tangled, sweating, heaving heap in the middle of the bed, Danse lying half-on, half-off her, and head pillowed on her chest. As their breathing slowed, his thumb brushed her shoulder when he moved his hand slightly, and he brushed the tip of it against the smooth skin for a moment. She tracing abstract patterns into the back of his shoulder with the tips of hers. And for a moment, there was silence . . . absolute silence. Until Amalia was the one who chose to break it.

 

“I found Shaun.”

 

She felt him hold his breath for a moment, as if caught between uncertainty on whether to allow her to continue, or to tell her that she didn’t have to talk about it yet if she didn’t want to. Luckily, Amalia made that decision for him by choosing to continue on her own: “He was an old man.”

 

Danse’s brows immediately furrowed in confusion as he moved to prop his head on his hand to better look her in the eyes. “What? How is that possible?”

 

Her eyes focused on an invisible point on his chest, and she explained to him, slowly and carefully – as if she was relating everything as it came back to her -- everything that had happened when she had been in the Institute. Her fingers had moved from his shoulder, to trace those same abstract little designs into his chest, through the light dusting of dark hair that grew there. His eyes ran over her features as she spoke – that mix of strong, American Indian and Irish features – and he knew then, with every fiber of his being – that he had never loved her so utterly and completely, as he did then.

 

When she was done, she had silent tears running down her cheeks. Shifting herself slightly, she huddled herself against him, where she brought her knees up against her chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close as she spoke: “Ever since I escaped from the vault and came here, my entire motivation has been to find my son,” Her voice was thickening with tears, but she persevered despite it. “All I’ve wanted was to find Shaun – find my baby boy – and then come back here and live out my life, whatever and with whoever that might entail. But I can’t have that anymore, Danse! I can’t have that anymore, no matter how much I wish it!”

 

She broke down into another round of sobs then, and like Nick, he had no choice but to hold her until she stopped. He could understand the agony she must be feeling – the heartache and the pain of having every hope and dream you could ever have, shattered into pieces around your feet in an instant.

 

He could understand what it felt like to be shattered.

 

Eventually, she cried herself to sleep, and it wasn’t long before Danse followed her into the same blissful oblivion. When he awoke, her side of the bed was empty and cold. He sat up and found her sitting on the windowsill in one of his shirts, smoking a pack of crumpled Lucky Strikes in the light of the blue dawn that was just starting to peep up over the horizon. It was chilly this morning, and he echoed the sentiment.

 

“I’ll be back to bed in a minute.” She spoke, quietly, shortly, and he gave a small nod, knowing better than to argue with her then.

 

After a moment, he heaved a sigh and moved to prop himself up against the headboard behind him. “You got another one of those?”

 

Silently, she tossed the pack and gold flip-lighter to him, and his reflexes caused him to catch the two items easily mid-air. Pulling a cigarette from the pack, he placed it in-between his lips before quickly lighting it. As the smoke filled his lungs, he realized that this was the first cigarette he had had in a long time, and wondered why in the hell he had ever wanted to quit.

 

They sat there and smoked together in a companionable silence, both of their eyes set on that beautiful, cool blue dawn. Eventually, when her cigarette was down to a mere stub, Amalia leaned forward and snubbed it out in the plastic ashtray she had brought with her from the kitchen when she had went to go fetch the cigarette packet. She had always kept one in the kitchen drawer by the sink, despite Codsworth's gentle admonishing over how smoking was bad for her, and Nate’s disapproving looks whenever she would sneak outside for one. She was surprised she had lasted this long without one, to be honest.

 

She got to her feet, picked up the ashtray, and moved over to him. She placed the ashtray beside him and gave a small hum. “Gotta report to Maxson sometime . . . but not today,” She shook her head. “Not for a while, actually. Figured I’d go look into that Med-Tek Facility with MacCready. It's . . . personal, for him. Afterwards, I thought I might go grab Curie from Vault 81 and lead her around the Commonwealth, some. You feeling up to holding down the fort by yourself for a while?”

 

Danse smiled and nodded as he took another drag off the cigarette. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. You stay safe.”

 

She gave a small smile. “I’m not leaving yet, you know . . .!”

 

Danse arched an amused brow. “Really?”

 

She shook her head as she climbed slowly on top of him, where she moved to straddle his waist. He could feel that she wasn’t wearing any panties, and his cock hardened at the thought. “Oh, now _there_ he is!” She murmured in a grin, her lips inches from his, causing the words to ghost out across his lips. “Normally, he’s already up and wanting to say hi . . .”

 

Danse gave a breathless laugh as he moved to snub out his cigarette right when she reached a hand downwards to wrap around the length of him. “Yeah, well, normally, his best friend is right there beside him when he does. I think he’s offended.” He spoke, and Amalia released a laugh of her own.

 

“I’m not leaving for hours yet, Paladin. I think we got time for a little Brotherhood insubordination . . .”

 

She had been lining him up at her entrance as she spoke, and when she finally sunk down onto him, he was pretty sure the feel of her around him, almost made his head explode. Her breath was hitching as well – eyes closed, teeth biting down gently on her bottom lip. His hands were on her ass, gently coaxing her into moving, and she did. She rode him, slowly, as the blue dawn gradually lightened into a beautiful sunrise that spilled over her – casting her in life, and light, and flame. And this, to Danse, was enough. This was all he knew he wanted now. Just him, Amalia, a pack of cigarettes, a house in a settlement they knew was safe, and an easy, slow morning fuck.

 

Only thing missing was Shaun.

 

Only thing missing was a kid.

 

Or a baby . . .

 

 _Their_ kid.

 

 _Their_ baby.

* * *

 

III

When he finally got up and got dressed in some fresh clothing, he found her in what used to be Shaun’s nursery, standing in front of what used to be his crib. One of her hands was wrapped around the baby blue iron bar – hard enough that her knuckles were turning white. He swallowed hard and stood there watching her for a moment until he spoke:

 

“MacCready’s waiting for you out front. Told him I’d come in and get you.” He spoke, quietly, and it took a moment, but eventually, she nodded.

 

“Okay. Tell him I’ll be out in a minute.”

 

Danse silently nodded and moved to go, but her quietly calling out his name, made him pause. He turned to face her, and with her back still facing him, she spoke: “I don’t care if Shaun is running the Institute now, Danse. I don’t care if he’s . . . _alive_ ,” Her tongue tripped over the word before she continued on: “The Institute still took him from me. The Institute still robbed me of my baby boy. Of the life I – _we_ – could have had with him.” There was another, longer pause this time, and when she spoke again, she turned to face him. Bitter, angry tears were in her eyes this time. Those _fierce_ green eyes of hers . . .

 

“The Institute is _going_ to pay, Danse. There’s no question about it. That man – _Shaun_ . . . that’s not my boy. My boy was _taken_ from me, and I’m not getting him back. Ever. No matter how much I hope and pray that I do. I have a right to want restitution . . .  right? I’m not . . . I’m not being _unreasonable_ , am I?”

 

Danse stayed silent and observed her for a moment before taking a step towards her. Then he took another one, and another one, and another one, until he had finally closed the gap between them. Gently, he grasped her by the arms and spoke: “If what you said is true, Amalia, then the Institute still deserves what’s coming to it. They have all that technology – all these different ways to make life better up here, and yet, they don’t. They remain down there, sheltered in their protective bubble of ignorance, while the rest of humanity struggles and claws to survive up here from day by day. Look at what you’ve created here, Amalia – _look_ at this settlement! You’ve done what the Institute and all its technology, has failed to do. You’ve given people _hope_! You’ve given them a _reason_ to survive! So no, Amalia, you are not being unreasonable. At least, not to me.”

 

His eyes darted to the crib, and he held it in his gaze as he spoke the next words, slowly and a little hesitantly. “And if . . . if you want, when all this over, we can . . . we can try again. The baby, it won’t be Shaun, I know that, but . . . it’ll be _ours_. And this time, we _won’t_ let it be taken from us, I promise you that with my _life_!”

 

For a moment, she gazes at him, and for once, Danse is unsure of what he sees there in her eyes. Normally, they are left unguarded around him, for him to peruse at his leisure, but now . . . now they are shuttered to the world, and he finds himself barred from them. His heart pounds in his chest, his mouth feels cotton dry. What if what he said was wrong? What if she take sit as an insult – says its much too soon –

 

She surprises him by stepping forward and planting her hands on his chest. Slowly, they run upwards until her arms wrapped themselves loosely around his neck – until she's embracing him with her face buried in that chest she had so recently been touching. Hesitantly, he wraps his arms around her, holds her close, and it is then that she speaks:

 

“Nothing would make me happier, Danse, than to start over with you. To start a family.”

 

All he feels is relief upon hearing her words. An aching, all-encompassing relief. And as they stand there in the ruined, partially restored nursery of the house she had once shared with another man, he finds his eyes drawn to that blue painted crib. Once, it had held her Shaun: the baby that was taken from her. In the future, if they were lucky, maybe it would hold another baby. _Their_ baby.

 

There was another ripping, tearing ache in his chest. Why did such a thing seem like such an impossibility?


	2. Part Two: After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit-snakes, everyone, I'm so sorry to keep you guys waiting! This part did NOT want to get written, and eventually, I had to do a complete and total overhaul of how I wanted this chapter to play out. In the end, though, I am very happy with it, as I hope you guys are :)
> 
> Also, as I'm sure a few of you will notice, I have bumped up the total number of chapters from "2" to "3". I have decided to include a third chapter, which will be the "Epilogue" of sorts. So don't worry: after the slightly depressing ending of this chapter, I will give our cute, totally adorable couple a happy ending. Also, there is enough fluff this chapter to open a teddy bear factory. You guys have been warned!
> 
> And finally, for the second part of this chapter, I definitely encourage you guys to listen to the oh-so beautiful song "Sleepwalk" by Santo & Johnny, while reading it. It places you in the exact mood I wanted Amalia and Danse to be in, and it adds a little somethin-somethin to the chapter that wouldn't have been there otherwise.
> 
> Anyway! Enough of my rambling! Onwards to the good stuff!

* * *

 

I

The first time he saw Amalia O’Murphy in the courtyard of Cambridge’s Police Station, he didn’t really get a chance to get a good look at her. Fighting for your life against a horde of snarling, leaping feral ghouls trying their damndest to bite your face off, had a strange penchant for calling for one’s undivided attention.

           

When it was all over and done with, though, and she was standing before him, clad in her rough leather armor, blood splattered, and raven hair rumpled and askew from being grabbed and shoved repeatedly by crazed hands, he thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen before. The way her eyes glittered in amusement and excitement before growing concerned and mournful upon catching sight of their dead; how soft and worried her voice sounded when she asked if they were all alright . . .

           

Even now, as they stood there together in the harsh, clinical lights of the underground bunker of Listening Post Bravo, she was still so amazingly beautiful to him, tear-stained eyes, and clenched fists, and all.

           

He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what she _wanted_ him to say.

           

“When I was in the Institute, I saw how they . . . how they made the synths. It was one of the first things they showed me,” She spoke after a while, her voice raspy and quiet. She was suddenly very keen on avoiding his gaze, and as he stood there, feeling so far away from her when he had once been so close, he felt himself having to swallow hard to get past the lump that had been steadily growing in his throat ever since her arrival. His heart ached in his chest again, and not for the first time, he wondered how he was able to _feel_ that if he was a machine. “It was . . . horrible. Horrible, and _clinical_ , and . . .” She closed her eyes and shook her head, seemingly collecting her thoughts.

           

_How could he love her, if he was a machine?_

_How could the sight of so much uncertainty vibrating throughout her entire body, cause him to feel so much fear and heartache, if he was a machine?_

_How could he be so_ fucking _terrified of losing her, if he was a damned_ machine _?_

His voice caught as he spoke: “Amalia, I --”

           

“I could have come with someone, I’m well aware of that,” She interrupted him, her voice stronger, but still raspy. She had cried, coming here, he knew then. The realization made him swallow hard again. “Mac, or Piper, or . . . Dogmeat, if I wanted peace and quiet, and time to think. God knows, Hancock or Nick would have come – _gladly_!” She gave a pained laugh at that before shaking her head. She still wasn’t meeting his gaze, and now, her arms were crossed tightly in front of her chest. “But I couldn’t. This had to be done by me, and me alone. And all the way up here, I kept replaying in my head what I had seen in the Institute like it was some fucking movie! Watching as those machines made synths – stringing those metal skeletons up like they were on a _loom_! And when they came up from the vat, they were so . . . _mechanical_. And I kept . . . comparing those synths to you, and the entire time, I had to keep reminding myself that Quinlan is never wrong, otherwise, I would have ended up convinced that you weren’t one. That somehow the data was _wrong_ , because . . . because you _aren’t_ like them, Danse – you _aren’t_! You aren’t a mechanical, emotionless machine! A machine can’t say “I love you”, and mean it as much as you do -- like I can _tell_ you do! A machine can’t . . . _make love_ like we do, and then understand the brevity of it, like you do.”

           

He shook his head as he held a hand out to her. “Amalia --”

           

She gave a stubborn shake of her head, and suddenly, that fierceness was back. The same fierceness he saw the day he came into the house and saw her standing beside Shaun’s crib, telling him the Institute was going to pay for everything it had done to her. She finally met his gaze again, that fierceness echoing in the deep green of her eyes, and he suddenly wanted to cry.

           

“You. Are not. A _machine_! You are Paladin Ethan Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel, twenty-seven-years-old, Blood Type A positive. You’re my mentor, my best friend, my lover -- the _man_ I love above all others! And Father Maxson and the Brotherhood be damned – I am _not_ going to kill you! And I don’t care if I have to fortify Sanctuary and fight through hundreds of their legions – _they_ are not going to kill you!”

           

There was a heavy silence then that was punctuated by the soft sounds of Amalia’s steps across the concrete floor as she quickly crossed the distance between them. She wrapped her arms around him and held him close. She buried her face in his chest, and, more reflexively than anything, he returned the embrace.

           

“I’ve already lost my family, Danse, to a force I couldn’t have even _begun_ to control! Nate was shot right in front of me by Kellogg, and Shaun is . . . Shaun _isn’t_ who I expected him to be! Don’t make me lose you too. Not right now. Not to a force I _can_!”

           

“You . . . you’re right.” Danse sighed as one of his hands moved to cup the back of her head – holding her close. “How could I have been so blind? I love you, Amalia – how could I have ever asked you to do something like that?”

 

 “What are you going to do?” She asked, her voice small and afraid, as she pulled herself away from him just enough to turn her gaze up onto him. There was concern and fear in the emerald green depths of her eyes now. Concern and fear that even after all this heartache and betrayal, she would still lose him. And she was right. She would.

 

Danse heaved a sigh and shook his head. “Amalia, if I’m going to live -- if we’re _both_ going to live – then the only choice is for me to leave the Commonwealth,” He spoke, quietly. Slowly, he pulled away from her, and it was with great reluctance that she allowed him to leave her, for however brief a moment it was. Moving to the nearby table, he grabbed up something and returned to her. “Here, take my holotags. Use them to prove that your mission was a success, or Maxson will just send someone else to hunt me down,” He placed the silver dog tags into her hand before curling her fingers around them. Her eyes sparkled with tears as she met his eyes again – big and sorrowful as they were. He watched as she mechanically withdrew her hands back towards her body. When he spoke this time, his voice was heavy with unshed tears, and his tongue tripped over the words as they left his mouth. “Now come on . . . let’s get the hell out of here.”

 

He took her hand in his and led her from the room towards the elevator. A part of her screamed and dug in her heels and demanded that they stop for a moment – stop for _just_ a moment so that she could comprehend what had happened, what _was_ happening, and to _breathe_. But that part of her was small and easily encompassed by the feel of her hand in his, and before she could object, she was shoving the thought that this might be the last time he would hold her hand, out of her head.

 

Her heart plummeted into the depths of her stomach, and she felt tears dig harsh fingers into her eyes as they stepped outside, only to find themselves face to face with Maxson. The man stood harsh against the glare of the light above the entranceway to the bunker, as was his voice when he finally spoke -- shattering the still silence around them:

 

“How _dare_ you betray the Brotherhood like this?”

 

He marched towards them, and Amalia – strong, immovable Amalia – marched to meet him halfway before coming to a stop and waiting for him. When he was mere inches from her, her mouth opened to reply, with what, she had no idea, only to have Danse interject.

 

“It’s not her fault, Elder. It’s mine.”

 

“Silence! I’ll deal with _you_ in a moment!” Maxson snarled at Danse with disgust dripping from every syllable and pore of his being. He returned his focus onto Amalia, and his tone and gaze softened for a moment – but not by much, though -- as he continued: “Knight! Why has this . . . _thing_ not been destroyed yet?”

 

Danse watched as Amalia took in a steadying breath before speaking with a strength and calmness she did not feel: “Elder Maxson, sir, he’s still alive because you’re wrong about him. He has dedicated his life to protecting mankind!”

 

“Is that what _It_ told you?” He asked, leaning down slightly as his voice lowered. “How can you trust the word of a machine that thinks it’s alive, over one of your own?” Maxson continued in this vein for a moment before Danse spoke up again, defying what the Elder had told him previously.

 

Amalia, however, could hardly focus. The taste of bile was sharp and acrid in her mouth, and she was beginning to seriously contemplate pulling her pistol on Maxson. She knew that if she didn’t do the right thing – _say_ the right thing – that she would inevitably have to. The only reason she hadn’t yet was that she needed the Brotherhood to take down the Institute, and she would rather find a way to end this peacefully.

 

“Please, Arthur --!”

 

Maxson’s hawk-like eyes snapped onto hers form where he had been glaring at Danse as they argued, successfully interrupting her mid-sentence. Her gaze was sharp on his, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Danse’s brows furrow slightly, curious as to how Amalia could be brave enough to call the Elder by his first name. And likewise, Amalia could feel Danse’s eyes burning into the back of her head, but ignored the uncomfortable feeling as Maxson quietly spoke:

 

“You’re on thin ice, Knight. Luckily, I don’t intend to debate this for much longer,” Looking over at Danse, he gave a short nod to her. “My orders stand.”

 

“‘Malia, it’s all right,” Danse told her as he pinned her with a reassuring smile. “We did our best. You convinced me that I was wrong to be ashamed of my true identity, and I thank you for it. You have shown me true . . .” He glanced at Maxson. “What it means for someone to care for you, and . . . more. Whatever you decide, know that I’m going to my grave with no anger and no regrets.”

 

 _I love you_ , is what Amalia managed to read between the lines, and they caused tears to build up rather unmercifully in her eyes.

 

“Touching,” Maxson sneered, causing Amalia to turn a fierce gaze up onto him. It was a gaze that he seemed to shrug off as if it were nothing. “Knight, either you execute Danse, or I personally will. The choice is yours.”

 

So this was it, wasn’t it? There was a curious sensation of weightlessness and breathlessness in her chest and lungs as it occurred to Amalia that _this_ was her last chance to sway Maxson in her favor. She knew she would have some explaining to do later, but after a heavy swallow, she took a step forward and placed a gentle, cautious hand on Maxson’s arm. The man jerked violently like he had just been touched by a ghoul, but his gaze when he settled it on her, was surprisingly calm, and . . . pained? She ignored the look as she spoke, her voice quiet and even.

 

“Maxson . . . _Arthur_ \-- you need to listen to me. After all I’ve done for the Brotherhood, you owe me that much, don’t you think? Regardless of whether or not he is human, he has saved countless lives of Brotherhood soldiers, including mine _and_ yours, countless times. Now it is time you saved his . . . don’t you think?”

 

Maxson stared at Amalia for a good, long moment – all the emotion in his eyes lost to her. Finally, his jaw hardened as he turned to Danse. “Danse, as far as I am concerned, you are dead. This Brotherhood Knight pursued and slew you, and your remains were incinerated, as per Brotherhood protocol.” He then proceeded to prohibit Danse from ever interacting with any Brotherhood affiliated soldier, and Danse, ever polite, thanked him for this chance. Maxson’s lips thinned into a line as he pinned Amalia with another look. She forced herself to keep from taking that shuddering breath she so desperately wanted to, as she quickly read his gaze.

 

 _I’m doing this for_ you _._

 

She was thankful when Danse didn’t speak, as Maxson turned around and headed back to the Vertibird they knew was waiting for him just over the rise of the hill. They stood there, still as statues, until the Elder’s body was gone completely from their vision. It was then, and only then, that Amalia turned to face Danse. The both of them were silent, not able to fully reconcile if what really happened, had _just_ happened.

 

After a moment, Amalia spoke, her voice quiet and slightly dazed: “Let’s . . . go home.” She spoke, and Danse silently nodded in agreement. Turning around, he led the way back inside, and she mutely followed him. Everything seemed akin to a dream. They didn’t speak, afraid that the sound would shatter everything and reveal that it had all been a dream or a cruel, cruel jest. Riding down the elevator, the doors slid open, and Amalia halfway expected to find Brotherhood soldiers waiting for them at the bottom (no matter how impossible she knew it was) laser pistols and rifles pointed at their hearts and heads.

 

They were not, though. They were alone in the small, bright space. As she numbly stepped out of the elevator, Danse moved to collect his things. They were things he had thought to leave behind – the more that would slow him down. But now, he is free – returning to Sanctuary with the woman he loves, and, he supposed, he might want them now.

 

“Danse . . .”

 

Her small voice broke the silence like a hammer, and he turned slightly to gaze at her as she slowly approached him. Her face was blank – she was still in shock, he supposed. She had come so close to losing him, gaining him, and then losing him again, only to regain him back, all in a matter of hours. He supposed she had a right to feel a little whiplashed.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

There was a moment of silence before he spoke, his voice quiet: “How can I work through this?”

 

She took a step towards him. “I’ll help you. You know I will.”

 

He shook his head. “I don’t think anything will. I’ve spent my entire life, Amalia – or at least what I’ve perceived as my life – following a plan to shape my own future. But since I’ve found this out that I’m a _synth_ . . . I feel lost. Almost like I exist with no purpose. For the first time since the moment I signed up with the Brotherhood, I don’t have all the answers. I don’t have a plan. And it scares the hell out of me.”

 

“What you’ve gone through, Danse, would throw anyone for a loop. Hell, _I’m_ having a hard time believing this! You’re just confused. You just have to sit down and think.”

 

Danse gave a caustic laugh. “Your damn _right_ I’m confused, Amalia! I’m a machine who thinks like a human, to hunt the very thing I’ve become. Don’t you understand? Everything I had – everything I _knew_ – is gone! In the span of a few hours, my identity was ripped from me and my world thrown upside-down. At least what you had was something tangible – something _real_!” He got to his feet then, and the intensity of his gaze, the tenseness of his frame, caused her to take a step back. “Your husband, Shaun – they were living, breathing humans who loved you and cared for you! Those sons of bitches who created me _couldn’t_ have even bothered to implant memories of siblings or parents! I don’t even know how much of my own past is artificial, and how much is real – only the parts with _you_ in it! Can you even imagine that? I started out as nothing, and I’ve ended as nothing. And I don’t what the _hell_ to do about it!”

 

Slowly, she neared him, until her hands were on his chest, and her wide green eyes was holding his gaze. “I’m . . . _so sorry_ , Danse! I guess . . . I guess I never imagined how deeply this could affect you. I’m sorry, I never . . .” She trailed off, and Danse pursed his lips.

 

“I appreciate that.” He heaved a sigh and looked away. “I guess I’m just missing the point. My life’s starting over, and I guess I need to come to terms with everything I’ve lost, and everything I’ve gained.”

 

She smiled. “You haven’t lost me. You haven’t lost a home, or friends. We’re going to go back to Sanctuary Hills. You can still go to the bar and drink with Hancock, and Mac, and Piper. You’ll still be able to crawl into the same bed with me at night. Not _everything_ is lost, Danse!”

 

He nodded and returned her smile. His hand came up to cup her cheek. “And you’ve made me realize that.” He shook his head then, and his hand dropped away, only to appear seconds later on her hip. “I don’t know if it’s an anomaly in my programming, because, after all, I’m not even human. But I love you, Amalia. I’ve never been as completely sure of anything else in my entire life. _This_ , I know is true.”

 

She shook her head. “I don’t know what the Institute did, but you’re _not_ fully a machine, Danse. If you were a machine, we would not be having this conversation. You would not be standing here, telling me you _love_ me! I refuse to believe you’re anything _but_ human!”

 

“If I was human, wouldn’t this be a hell of a lot easier?”

 

She gave a laugh. “Who said I wanted easy? And you’re more human, Danse, than many people I know. You’re certainly more human than many could ever hope to be.”

 

He smiled then, and the smile was so soft and loving, that Amalia couldn’t help but wrap her arms around his neck, rise up on her tiptoes, and kiss him as passionately as she could. When they broke apart, Danse held her close. “If I lost you, I didn’t know what I’d do.” He murmured, and she nodded.

 

“Me too, Danse. Me too.”

                                                                        

* * *

 

II

When they returned to Sanctuary Hills a few days later, it was like a giant weight lifted from Danse’s shoulders this time, instead of hers. After dropping off his suit of power armor in the garage, they wandered around the bustling, walled settlement catching up with everyone – asking if anything had happened in their absence. The settlement was guarded by turrets, Militiamen, and those settlers who had been picked as guardsmen. Already, Sanctuary Hills served as a beacon of hope for others in the Wasteland, and there were even talks of the settlement expanding downwards to the Red Rocket Gas Station.

 

Danse couldn't wait.

 

That night, true to Amalia’s word, they hung out with everyone else at the ramshackle building that served as the settlement’s bar. Joking and laughing with MacCready and Deacon, Danse was still . . . _Danse_. He wasn’t known as a synth, or as someone who had lied to them while being lied to himself. He was still their best friend, brother . . . the man many would rush into battle alongside. The thought did more good for him than anything else, Amalia realized, as she maintained her usual perch on his knee. He needed this – being surrounded by those he considered friends and family. He needed this more than he would have admitted.

 

A storm blew up by the time midnight rolled around, causing many to flee to their homes, and the bartender to close up shop. Danse and Amalia rushed back home, hand-in-hand, laughing and buzzing from the alcohol that had been consumed, and the slightly scratchy records that had played over the jukebox from Diamond City. Dogmeat ran after them, barking happily, and was even allowed inside to curl up on the couch instead of in his doghouse out in the garage.

 

Someone must have turned on the jukebox in her house, for same song was still playing, despite the short amount of time it had taken them to run from the bar to the house. Humming along to “Sleepwalk” by Santo & Johnny Farina, Danse spun her around before pulling her against him, their bodies swinging to that crooning, invisible beat. Smiling, her eyes closing in contentment, Amalia allowed him to, and they remained there for a moment, relishing in the feel of being in each other’s arms – in the fact that for the night, at least, nothing had changed – as the storm rolled steadily in. She reveled in the fact that she  _had him_ beside her. That he hadn't been killed, and that he would be there by her side until something happened otherwise. 

 

After a moment, her smile grew a little wider. “That a pistol, or are you just happy to be dancing with me, Paladin?” She asked, and Danse chuckled.

 

“Yeah, I guess you could say that I’m not exactly feeling much like a machine right now . . .”

 

Her own chuckle was husky and crooning, as he head tilted slightly into him. “Feeling more like a man, you mean?”

 

Another chuckle resounded in her ear as she felt the brush of his lips against her hair. “Exactly. So, what say you we . . . _slowly_ . . . dance our way back this ways . . . .”

 

Amalia’s smile grew bigger as she allowed him to sway them back down the hallway to their bedroom. At the door to what used to be the laundry room, Danse took her hand in his and spun her gently. He then pulled her back into his arms, and with her hand in his, they danced the remaining feet to the bedroom. By the time they reached it – in some sort of divine timing – the song had ended, leaving them in absolute silence save for the slow pattering of the rain against the asphalt outside.

 

“What say you carry me inside and tuck me into bed right about now, Paladin?” She asked, her voice still husky and crooning, and through the gloom of the hallway, she saw Danse smile. Bending down, he slid one arm underneath her knees before picking her up and swinging her around.

 

“Oh, I think I can do a little bit more than that, Amalia . . .”

 

He carried her into the darkened bedroom, and it was then that she noticed for the first time how he was looking at her. That soft look in his eyes, that lazy smile . . . she returned that smile with one of her own, and after setting her down on her feet, his hand curled around the back of her neck in a gentle, surprisingly erotic grip. He pulled her up to him and kissed her, deep, and hungry, and possessively. She moaned into his mouth as her hand came up to fist in his thick dark locks.

 

There was nothing in the way he touched her that night, to suggest that he was anything short of a flesh and blood man, eager to make love with the woman he loved. Everything reminded her of the old Danse – the confidant way he touched her and made her moan. The familiar way his body felt against hers and in her arms as she wrapped them around him and held him close; that intimate way he seemed to find a home within her, when his cock finally slid into her. Her flesh burned when he moved his hand up to brush a lock of her hair out of her eyes before pressing his lips to hers in another searing kiss as his hips began a slow, torturous roll against hers. He was all she ever needed, and more. And when he wrapped her in his arms and sat back, pulling her onto his lap, they sat there, their bodies feverishly rocking against the others while trying to find release, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close while his hands cupped her ass, guiding her movements on top of him, she knew – synth or not – that she would never leave him. Synth or not – she loved him. And that would never change.

 

When they finally came, one of her hands clenched in his hair while the nails of the other dug into his shoulder as her mouth opened in a breathless moan of his name. He gripped her tight – holding her as tight as he could against him as he expelled her own name in a breathless groan – she almost couldn’t breathe as her body was flooded with the sensation of being filled by his seed.

 

It was the most amazing thing she had ever felt.

 

They lay there for a moment, basking in the feeling of utter rightness that encompassed them, as well as the scant cool breezes that would float in through the windows, heavy with the refreshing smell of rain. Eventually, Amalia broke it, her voice tinged with an emotion Danse couldn’t decipher.

 

“You know . . . it makes all kinds of sense now, if you think about it.” She spoke as they lay there, Amalia half-on, half-off him this time. Danse gave a hum of acknowledgment as his fingers combed gently through her shoulder-length raven locks.

           

“Now what makes sense?”

Her voice was quiet, pensive, when she answered him: “Why I never got pregnant, no matter how many times we tried . . .”

           

A heavy silence thudded between them then like an anvil, and it took a moment for either of them to speak again. And it was Danse who finally broke it. His voice was heavy and tight as he gathered her close and held her. He felt her tremble in his arms -- knew that tears were probably building in her eyes. And he'd be lying -- he'd think himself less of a man -- if he didn't admit he felt them, too.  “I guess . . . for all their scientific advancements, and all their bravado, not even the Institute can recreate the natural conceiving of a child. I'm sorry, Amalia.”


End file.
